Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [0]
Peters
CHILDREN
OF THE
STORM
CONTENTS
Dedication
EPIGRAPH
CHAPTER ONE
The encrimsoned sun sank slowly toward the crest. . .
CHAPTER TWO
We were apprised of the distressing development by one. . .
CHAPTER THREE
He wondered where he was, but he couldn’t bring himself. . .
CHAPTER FOUR
By the time we had the luggage sorted out and got it. . .
CHAPTER FIVE
Our little expedition to the cemetery did not get off until later. . .
CHAPTER SIX
Daoud!” I shrieked. “Save him! Hurry!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I presume you searched the entire area thoroughly,” I said. . .
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lieutenant Wickins politely declined my invitation to join us for. . .
CHAPTER NINE
We have to do something with him,” I pointed out, after Emer. . .
CHAPTER TEN
The sun rose behind me as I climbed, and my long pale shadow. . .
CHAPTER ELEVEN
None of us heard the explosion, which was a good thing, since. . .
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nefret did not learn of her husband’s deception. . .
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The boy wasn’t ill. She ought to have known it had been a ruse.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After Ramses had gone ashore, accompanied by Reis Hassan. . .
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
EDITOR’S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY ELIZABETH PETERS
CREDITS
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
Dedication
To Joan Hess
Pax Ovinica
Epigraph
The day of the children of the storm.
Very dangerous. Do not go on the water this day.
—Excerpt from an ancient Egyptian horoscope
CHAPTER ONE
The encrimsoned sun sank slowly toward the crest of the Theban mountains. Another glorious Egyptian sunset burned against the horizon like fire in the heavens.
In fact, I did not at that moment behold it, since I was facing east. I had seen hundreds of sunsets, however, and my excellent imagination supplied a suitable mental picture. As the sky over Luxor darkened, the shadows of the bars covering doors and windows lengthened and blurred, lying like a tiger’s stripes across the two forms squatting on the floor. One of them said, “Spoceeva.”
“Russian,” Ramses muttered. scribbling on his notepad. “Yesterday it was Amharic. The day before it sounded like—”
“Gibberish,” said his wife.
“No,” Ramses insisted. “It has to mean something. They use root words from a dozen languages, and they obviously understand one another. See? He’s nodding. They are standing up. They are going . . .” His voice rose. “Leave the cat alone!”
The Great Cat of Re, stretched out along the back of the settee behind him, rose in haste and climbed to the top of his head, from which position it launched itself onto a shelf. Ramses put his notepad aside and looked severely at the two figures who stood before him. “Die Katze ist ganz verboten. Kedi, hayir. Em nedjeroo pa meeoo.”
The Great Cat of Re grumbled in agreement. He had been a small, miserable-looking kitten when we acquired him, but Sennia had insisted on giving him that resounding appellation and, against all my expectations, he had grown into his name. His appearance was quite different from those of our other cats: longhaired, with an enormous plume of a tail, and a coat of spotted black on gray. With characteristic feline obstinacy he insisted on joining us for tea, though he knew he would have to go to some lengths to elude his juvenile admirers, who now burst into a melodious babble of protest, or, perhaps, explanation.
“Darling, let’s stick to one language, shall we?” Nefret said. She was smiling, but I thought there was a certain edge to her voice. “They’ll never learn to talk if you address them in ancient Egyptian and Anglo-Saxon.”
“They know how to talk,” Ramses said loudly, over the duet. “Recognizable human speech, however—”
“Say Papa,” Nefret coaxed. She leaned forward. “Say it for Mama.”
“Bap,” said the one whose eyes were the same shade of cornflower-blue.
“Perverse little beggars,” said Ramses. The other child climbed onto his knee and buried her head against his chest. I suspected she was trying to get closer to the cat, but she made an engaging picture as she clung to her father. They were affectionate